Prince Galitzky (Prince Igor): Chaliapin and this character were perfect for each other, though I don’t believe he ever sang the role after leaving Russia. The song lies at the upper end of the workable bass range, where F. C. can play with the line like no one else. The appetite, the sardonic edge, the insinuation of the B section about the girls at his disposal—all comes easily. Two of his four versions of the piece were made in these sessions.

The Aleko Cavatina: Chaliapin reaches back to the days of his fecundity with Mamontov, when he created or resurrected major roles of the Russian literature with the composers—in this case his early collaborator and lifelong friend Rachmaninov—on the scene, for this moving monologue of an older man in the Gypsy camp whose beloved Zemfira has forsaken him for a younger man. A tremendous record.

Madamina: Oh, dear. Where is he coming from with this? At a mercilessly pushed tempo (did they try to get this on a single 78-rpm side? can’t be done, actually), Chaliapin punches away with every sort of feint and jab except the sort that might get into a clinch with Leporello. He’s in perfectly OK voice, but it’s a mess. He can’t possibly have done this with Mahler. Or did he? He’ll come back to this later, though.

“Moyo detishche, Antonidushka“: It’s nice to have this, Chaliapin’s only recording of this tender apostrophe to his beloved daughter, a continuation of the Act IV monologue, sung as Ivan Susanin awaits his certain death. It’s particularly welcome inasmuch as it’s not an aria or song, but a passage of noble accompanied recitative, and as such unlikely to have been recorded as a single.

“Vecchia zimarra“: Yes, the Bohème Coat Song, another echo of Chaliapin’s salad years. As we might expect, it’s a Feodor-specific interpretation that one cannot imagine fitting into an actual production. But it’s by no means inexpressive, and includes Colline’s lines to Schaunard following the song.

To conclude this post and give a foretaste of the concluding one, I’ll take a little jump ahead to the first of the Covent Garden live groupings, the excerpts from Boito’s Mefistofele. These are from the performance of May 31,1926. As Ward Marston explains in his booklet note, nine sides were recorded, but the masters of three were destroyed (and who was responsible for that?). ^(I)

The live “Son lo spirito” is every bit as compelling as you’d expect, with malevolently mullled-over “No‘s” and machine-gun bursts of astonishing staccato laughter at “Ri-i-i-i-do e avvento questa sillaba” and “Stru-u-u-u-go, tento, ruggo, sibilo.” There are at least several splendid recordings of this aria by other eminent bassos, but nothing like this—though no one should miss De Angelis on the great old 1930 Columbia set, which also has the heart-breaking Margarita of Mafalda Favero and the imposing Elena of Giannina Arangi-Lombardi. The other big solo from the Covent Garden performance is the “Ave Signor.” It doesn’t lack for other representation in the Chaliapin discography, and it’s quite OK to prefer one of the studio versions—his tone sounds marginally lighter and brighter here. But to hear it cutting across the opera house space with all its sardonic vitality, and to hear all the familiar effects spewing forth in the context of in-the-moment performance, is to remove all doubt that the sonic presence we’ve named Chaliapin was in fact the man and artist he was reputed to be. These recordings, which have always sounded superior to other similar efforts, and even many broadcasts, from any time before WW2, sound even better in these restorations.